


Gaze

by lockheed_london



Series: Fantasies [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas gets the opportunity to fulfil a fantasy involving Martin.</p><p>A fill for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure prompt meme: http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6625.html?thread=12877537#cmt12877537</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaze

“Really?” Martin fiddles with his shirt buttons and oh God, they’ve had this conversation for what feels like a hundred times by now, but he can’t stop himself saying yet again: “I mean, of course we _can_ , yes, but I just...”

Douglas isn’t looking at him and Martin’s words trail off uncertainly, but Douglas prompts, “You just what?”

He finishes arranging the towels on the sofa and, apparently satisfied, turns to face Martin. When Martin stays silent, Douglas comes over to him and draws him into a hug.

“I just don’t see why you’d want to,” Martin mutters, emboldened by the warm press of Douglas’ hands on his back.

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you,” Douglas says, slightly obliquely, and kisses Martin before he can reply.

Martin melts into Douglas’ kiss readily. Douglas is very good indeed at kissing Martin; it must be the experience gained from all those thousands of stewardesses – and, Martin now knows, a fair number of stewards too – but once Douglas starts kissing him Martin rather loses the ability to mind. Or to think about much of anything, really.

Now Douglas kisses him slowly, unhurriedly, taking his own sweet time over kissing Martin’s upper lip, and his lower, and teasing him with little flickers of his tongue that just dip into Martin’s open mouth.

“Hmm.” Martin shivers a little when Douglas pulls back, excitement already gathering in his belly at the look in Douglas’ eyes.

Wordlessly Douglas hooks a finger in Martin’s belt to draw him over to the sofa and Martin goes readily, already most of the way hard in his jeans just from Douglas’ kisses and the knowledge of what they’re about to do.

***

Two weeks ago Martin, feeling very bold, had run a hand down Douglas’ chest – still faintly sweat-damp from the sex they’d just had – and asked him whether he had any fantasies. He hadn’t been quite sure what sort of answer he’d get back, but he would be the first to admit that he hadn’t expected Douglas’ fantasies to revolve around _him_.

Because Douglas, as it happened, wanted to look at Martin. In close and attentive and rather explicit detail.

“We’re always under the covers when we do this,” Douglas said, caressing Martin’s nape. “And if I’m sucking you off then there isn’t much of a view as it’s all rather close up. Although I’m very fond of the soundtrack.”

Douglas smiled faintly and slid a finger under Martin’s jaw to push his mouth closed; it was open slightly as Martin listened, half-aroused again, to Douglas speaking so calmly and consideringly about what they did in bed.

“So I suppose what I’d like is to spread you out somewhere in broad daylight,” Douglas said thoughtfully, “somewhere I could have a good view of everything, and just... well.” Douglas did an odd sort of half-shrug, as best he could lying down. “You know. Take my time.”

“...right,” Martin said at last. “I... well. We could do that. If you... you know. If you wanted.”

“Oh, I want,” Douglas half-growled, rolling onto his side to put both arms around Martin, as Martin pressed close against him. “I definitely want.”

***

Which brings them to here: the pair of them kissing while sitting on a towel that’s been carefully spread out across the sofa, another folded double in the spot where – Martin imagines – his hips are going to rest. There’s something almost clinical about it, and Martin has a flutter of excitement in his stomach at the thought and then wonders at himself. He never thought he was into that sort of thing, but apparently where Douglas is concerned then all bets are off.

“Come on.” Douglas pushes his hand inside Martin’s loosened shirt, his thumb finding and rubbing across one of Martin’s nipples unerringly, and Martin gasps. “Take this off.”

Martin slides his shirt off his shoulders for Douglas to whisk it away and then, in response to Douglas’ hands in his lap, lifts his hips so Douglas can tug his boxers and jeans down under his arse and off.

“You too,” Martin says, clinging to Douglas and resisting when Douglas tries to crowd him to lie down. “You too, I don’t want it to just be me.”

“Your wish is my command,” Douglas says, kissing Martin again as his fingers dance down his shirtfront, until he has to turn his face away to look at what he’s doing.

Martin sits there while Douglas quickly shrugs off his clothes, his knees pressed together. Silly to be so prim about it given that, in a very short while, Douglas is going to be getting an excellent view of not only his inner thighs but everything else as well. He almost wonders why he’s doing it, save that as soon as the thought arises in his head he knows.

Douglas, in a relationship, is so terribly – almost shockingly – _kind_ that Martin has a guilty pang every time it surprises him. It’s rather like gaining entry to a heavily armoured castle, surrounded with imposing walls and formidable defences: from the outside it seems impossibly daunting, but once you’re over the drawbridge and inside then the castle’s inhabitants accept you as someone who has every right to be there.

Douglas is very thoughtful towards Martin; once they finally progressed from friends to “friends who sometimes have sex, when they’re on layovers and they’ve nothing better to do” to... whatever this is now (Martin doesn’t let himself think the word “relationship,” not yet), Martin has found that Douglas has near-boundless reserves of patience and good humour, and a deep, closely guarded well of affection.

The first evening Martin stayed over – not just for sex, but also for sleeping together and waking together the next morning – he’d started to fret about doing or saying the wrong thing, until Douglas had noticed and set about teasing him: feeling him up and tickling him under the pretence of cuddling him, until Martin was laughing so much he forgot to be nervous.

So now, when Douglas leans in for a kiss, Martin immediately puts his arms around Douglas and kisses him, and lets Douglas’ weight bear him backwards onto the sofa. God, he loves this: loves feeling Douglas’ broad chest hard against his and Douglas’ weight on him. Martin squirms a little to accommodate Douglas, spreading his legs so that Douglas can lie between his thighs, and smiles into Douglas’ mouth at the approving noise he makes.

With Douglas on top of him like this Martin feels somehow... safe, if that’s not too silly a notion. But Douglas’ hands are in his hair and cradling his head, and Douglas is kissing him with single-minded intensity, and Martin pushes his hips up against Douglas’ just to feel how solidly Douglas has him pinned.

It’s wonderful, but eventually Douglas draws back and Martin forces his hands to unclench. He squeezes his eyes shut as Douglas goes, fighting the urge to let his hands flutter down to cover himself and to press his knees together; instead he swallows hard and allows his legs to loll open, and he hears Douglas exhale hard. It’s the sound Douglas makes in bed, when he’s turned on, and he usually responds by doing something that feels excruciatingly good on Martin’s body; Martin arches his back under a burst of pride and lets his legs fall open further, letting Douglas see the coarse hair at his groin that is several shades darker than the hair on his head, the soft, vulnerable skin behind his balls, and the milk-pale skin of his inner thighs that never sees the sun.

“I need you to let me up,” Douglas says, his voice rough and one hand settling on the thigh Martin has draped across Douglas’ lap. “Just for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Eyes opening, Martin does so, and lies there staring at the ceiling and listening in puzzlement to the noises of Douglas moving about in the kitchen. The air of the room is cool on his skin; Martin wriggles his toes and tries to make himself wait patiently, but his composure is just starting to unravel under thoughts of how ridiculous he must look – lying on the sofa stark naked and with an erection – when Douglas returns.

He’s carrying a bowl of water, and Martin peers anxiously at it as Douglas sets it down on the floor by the sofa. Douglas insinuates himself back onto the sofa – pulling Martin’s leg to its former position across his lap, and settling the other one so that it’s not getting crushed between Douglas’ body and the sofa back – and bends to drop a kiss on Martin’s kneecap. Martin looks down and, between his splayed knees, sees that Douglas is fully erect already, and lust pulses heavily through him.

Douglas usually takes a little while to get completely hard, and often needs a hand on his cock to help him get there; it’s one of the perils of getting older, as he tells Martin with a wry grimace, waving self-deprecatingly at the scatterings of grey in his chest hair and the thickening around his middle. But Douglas doesn’t move like someone who’s embarrassed by his body. When they’re alone in the flat, Douglas will occasionally wander through to the kitchen from the bathroom or the bedroom, completely naked, in order to fetch something or steal a kiss from Martin. On such occasions Douglas moves with the easy grace of someone who is completely comfortable in his own skin, someone who knows his body and looks after it while accepting its flaws. The first time he saw it Martin wondered whether he could ever be that comfortable with himself; lately he’s begun to think that maybe, with Douglas’ easy and uncomplicated attraction to him, he could be.

“Now then,” Douglas purrs at him, reaching down to pluck something out of the bowl of water. “I got some things for you. Or perhaps I should say for me too, because I’m afraid I’m not quite altruistic enough to let you play with them without wanting to watch you.”

As he speaks Douglas pats the object dry on a clean towel, and Martin gets his first good look at it. It’s an odd-looking thing: it’s made of a seamless white plastic or silicone, with two arms at roughly ninety degrees to each other, and one of them is smooth while the other is textured with odd bumps and curves. Martin suspects he knows where it goes and his face heats even before Douglas speaks.

“It’s a prostate massager,” Douglas says casually, trailing the tip of the textured arm up Martin’s inner thigh and making him squirm ticklishly. “Because I simply adore the noises you make when I’ve got my fingers in you, but I was hoping to use both my hands. Alright?”

Martin doesn’t trust his voice and can only nod wordlessly, but Douglas seems to guess the reason for his silence and he smiles wickedly. “Wonderful.”

He puts the thing down on his lap and leans away to pick up a tube of lubricant, laying a generous stripe across his fingers before reaching between Martin’s legs. Martin’s eyes flutter closed in anticipation, and his breath hitches as Douglas’ fingers push confidently between his legs and then up against his hole. Martin swallows hard at the thick, obscene slide of Douglas’ fingers into him, and when Douglas’ other hand suddenly touches his nipple he moans slightly.

Douglas smears his fingers roughly across Martin’s nipples, making Martin squirm and suck his lower lip between his teeth, and his other hand presses harder against Martin’s arse as his fingers slide and push inside Martin.

There’s no sound in the room beyond the faintly wet noises of Douglas’ fingers and Martin’s heavy breathing; as soon as Martin realises this he tries to hush himself, silencing his breathing, but Douglas pinches his nipple just this side of too-rough, startling a noise out of Martin.

“Don’t you dare,” Douglas tells him roughly. “Not for a moment; don’t you _dare_.”

As if to ensure that Martin won’t be able to hold back, Douglas takes his hands away and picks up the toy. He briefly pushes more lubricant up inside Martin, making Martin’s stomach quiver, before smearing more on the toy and pressing it gently against Martin.

The thing is warm from the water. It’s perfectly smooth; just less in diameter than two of Douglas’ fingers, it slides into him easily thanks to the abundance of lubricant Douglas has used and Martin chews his lip and eloquently says, “Nngh.”

“Alright?” Douglas rubs Martin’s thigh as Martin’s hips shift. His inner muscles seem to catch hold of the thing and draw it up into him with barely any pressure at all from Douglas, and Martin whimpers a little as it pushes its way up into him and manages to touch _every good place_ inside him as it goes.

“ _Martin_.” Douglas squeezes his leg, gripping the base of the toy preparatory to taking it out, and Martin pulls himself together enough to gasp, “No, it’s good, leave it.”

“Sure?” Douglas’ hand lingers on the base of the toy, touching it as though he can’t quite make himself draw back. He guides the external arm so that it rests more snugly behind Martin’s balls, right in the place where Douglas will sometimes give him two fingers pushing hard when Martin is getting a blowjob and only seconds away from coming, and Martin arches a little at the contact. God, it feels amazing, and Douglas takes his hand away, flattens his palms on Martin’s inner thighs, and just stares greedily down between Martin’s legs.

Martin’s cheeks burn under Douglas’ intent gaze but he lets Douglas push his legs wide and stare at him, and Douglas moves a hand to touch a gentle finger to the base of the toy. It shifts slightly inside Martin, who gives a tiny noise at the wash of pleasure this provokes.

“God,” Douglas says on an exhale, half-growling, “that’s sexy.”

Martin says nothing, merely concentrates on breathing, and after a while Douglas’ hands stroke along his thighs.

“Do you know,” Douglas murmurs, drawing the pads of his first two fingers very carefully and precisely down the crease between Martin’s thigh and groin, “I think I might just indulge myself.”

There’s a wicked tone to his voice that has Martin stirring himself, half-sitting up in a daze to ask, “...what?” but the next instant Douglas leans down and licks across the head of his cock. Martin gasps harshly at the feeling, and then moans as the action causes him to tighten and the plug lifts and presses against his prostate.

“Oh,” he groans, one hand reaching down automatically to touch Douglas’ hair as he struggles to prop himself up with the other arm. “Oh God, _Douglas_.”

Douglas’ hands squeeze Martin’s thighs briefly in acknowledgement; his mouth is too busy with Martin’s cock, licking across the head and taking it between his lips and pulling away to nose at the coarse hair at the base of Martin’s cock and swipe a wet tongue across his balls. After a few minutes of this Martin finds himself carding almost feverishly through Douglas’ hair, his breath staggering in his chest, as Douglas groans happily and nuzzles his face between Martin’s thighs as though determined to _memorise_ every secret, private inch of him.

It’s all devastatingly good, and eventually Martin has to curl his fingers into Douglas’ hair and groan, “I’m close.”

He knows just what Douglas’ reaction will be, which is why he’s been putting it off as long as he can, and sure enough Douglas immediately raises his head and murmurs, “Not yet you’re not. I’m not _nearly_ done with you yet.”

Douglas presses a lingering kiss to Martin’s inner thigh, one hand stealing down to tap against the base of the plug and sending a shock of sensation through Martin, and Martin’s head falls back and he gasps at the ceiling, trying to pull himself together. The plug inside him isn’t the solid, inert thing he might have expected but is so responsive to every twitch and flutter of his internal muscles that it’s almost as good as having Douglas’ fingers in him. Martin tries hard to just relax into it: any movement makes the thing stir and rub inside him and he moans again as his nipples tighten further.

“Calm down,” Douglas breathes at him, his palms warm and steady as he strokes them up the tender skin of Martin’s inner thighs. “Easy, take a breath.”

Martin inhales shakily through his nose and exhales with slightly more composure, and Douglas drops an approving kiss on Martin’s kneecap. Martin opens his eyes and looks down at Douglas.

Douglas’ face is flushed, his hair rumpled out of order from Martin’s fingers. His mouth is wet from sucking on Martin’s cock, and when Martin’s gaze shifts lower he sees that Douglas’ own cock juts up thick and darkly flushed, the head shiny-wet. This evidence that, for Douglas, the reality is living up to the fantasy settles the last few remaining nerves in Martin’s stomach, and allows him to collect himself enough to say, “Okay, go on.”

Douglas’ nostrils flare as he breathes deeply. For a moment he doesn’t move, his hands stroking almost absently at Martin’s splayed legs, but at last he reaches down to the bowl of water on the floor and extracts the second toy, and Martin stares openly at it as Douglas pats it dry. It’s a sort of plastic tube, but stuffed full of soft-looking rubbery material.

“It’s silicone,” Douglas says, catching Martin’s gaze. “Here, feel.”

Douglas guides Martin’s hand down to feel the soft, yielding give of it, and Martin licks his lips as his fingers explore it gently. There’s a slit in one end of it; Martin dips his fingers lightly into it and has to swallow hard as his cock leaps and gets harder. Inside is soft and warm and snug around his fingers, and without even being told he knows what Douglas wants to do with it.

While Martin has been exploring it Douglas has been picking up the lubricant, and now he gently brushes Martin’s fingers aside to push a generous amount of lubricant inside the slit and up into the toy. Martin licks his lips at this, his heart starting to pound again, and Douglas gives him a wicked look as he does it again.

“Now then,” Douglas says at last, firming his grip on the toy in his right hand and using his left to angle Martin’s cock up away from his body as Martin’s fingers scrabble at the sofa cushions for a handhold. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it, yes?”

It’s phrased as a question but the tone of Douglas’ voice makes it clear that it’s more of an order, and Martin just has time to nod before Douglas squeezes Martin’s cock and rubs the head of it over the warm, wet slit in the toy.

Martin lets out a strangled noise and this, and then moans as his reflexive clench makes the plug slide inside him. Douglas isn’t averse to being on the receiving end of things, but it’s not something he’s often in the mood for – although Martin suspects that Douglas would be willing to do it more often than they actually do, purely to indulge him – and so Martin has never quite grown accustomed to the sensation of that first yielding press inside. Douglas plays with the head of his cock and the toy a little, his gaze fixed greedily on the head of Martin’s cock pushing into the slit and pulling out again, and when Martin’s toes are curling Douglas guides Martin’s cock inside the toy and lets it sink down all the way until Martin is buried to the root in it.

Martin can’t hold back a little cry at this, and Douglas’ eyes snap to his face at once.

“Alright?” he wants to know, and Martin can only nod and reach for him blindly.

He feels paralysed with pleasure: the plug thick and perfect in his arse, the outside arm pushing up behind his balls, and now the wet tight squeeze around his cock. Martin reaches for Douglas, his heart pounding and his hips lifting instinctively; he can feel his body tensing up uncontrollably, ramping up towards orgasm almost before Douglas has really started, and he grabs at Douglas when Douglas reaches for Martin’s hand and winds their fingers together.

“Deep breaths,” Douglas instructs him, unwinding his fingers and letting go of Martin’s hand for just long enough to touch his balls, squeezing them and giving them a rough tug that makes Martin gasp but also makes the giddy, sparking edge of orgasm recede slightly. “Deep breaths, and try to relax.”

Easy for Douglas to say, Martin thinks frantically, he’s not the one lying here caught between various excruciatingly good stimuli. If Martin moves one way the plug pushes up into him, and the other way is Douglas’ hand holding the toy steady and moving it just fractionally on his cock. Douglas reaches for Martin’s hand again, tangling their fingers together and lifting it to brush an affectionate kiss over Martin’s prominent knuckles.

Martin tries to calm himself down, he really does. But it’s nigh on impossible, and he clutches at Douglas’ hand and can’t stop a little thrust upwards with his hips, fucking into the toy.

“Darling,” Douglas murmurs and oh, that’s not fair, because Douglas _knows_ what it does to Martin when he call him “Darling” in that voice, that soft, intimate tone when it’s just the two of them alone. “As soon as I start doing this properly you’re going to come, aren’t you?”

“No,” Martin lies through his teeth. He can feel tendrils of orgasm starting to flicker low down in his gut, but this was supposed to be for Douglas and so Martin grits his teeth and tries very hard to ignore them.

“Hmm,” Douglas says. He executes one slow, perfect pull on the toy, letting Martin’s cock slide free before pushing it back inside again, and Martin’s eyes close automatically and distantly he hears himself cry out, hips pushing up into the toy in age-old instinct as it descends.

Douglas stills after that one pull, and Martin’s eyes flutter open to find that his grip on Douglas’ hand has tightened to the point of crushing Douglas’ knuckles together.

“Are you going to last five minutes, do you think?” Douglas asks teasingly and Martin bites his lip.

“I might be able to give you three,” he offers weakly, because who is he kidding, his toes are curling and he can already feel the tell-tale tension along the fronts of his thighs. And then, in a rush, “Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Douglas growls at him, softening the words by the devoted kisses he presses to Martin’s knuckles, over and over. He places their clasped hands on Martin’s knee and guides his leg so that Martin’s calf pushes against Douglas’ cock and Martin can feel how hard he is. “Not a word more of that, not when you’re like this.”

He rests their hands on Martin’s thigh, making no move to loosen Martin’s grip, and asks, “Ready?”

“Yes,” Martin says, his voice cracking slightly partway through. He’s so hard, his cock aching, and the plug is touching him in just the perfect place to make him shiver. “Yes... _please_ , yes.”

The next instant Douglas starts to pull the toy off Martin’s cock again and Martin’s eyes close as his body surges up towards it hungrily. He loses track of time as Douglas works at him; the tempting edge of orgasm gets dangerously close a few times but each time Martin gulps hard and moans and bucks his hips to throw off Douglas’ rhythm, anything to try and draw this out just a bit longer for Douglas.

Because despite his growing desperation Martin _does_ want to draw this out: Douglas is lavishing all this attention and affection on him and Martin wants so much to give him this in return. And so he holds out as long as he can, until the inside of the toy is sloppy with precome from Martin and Martin can feel the first beginnings of sweat prickling his hairline, until he’s not sure whether he’s going to scream or cry when he finally does get to come.

“Come on,” Douglas says roughly to him, jerking Martin harder and faster with the toy. “ _Fuck_ , come on.”

Martin’s body is winding tight again, the plug drawing up inside him and pushing against his prostate; he longs to follow this to its conclusion but he grabs for his willpower and bucks his hips.

Except that Douglas – sly, devious, _wonderful_ Douglas – has grown wise to that little trick by now, and he merely rides out the surge of Martin’s hips and carries on tugging at his cock without a break in the rhythm, and Martin gasps something incoherent. He couldn’t stay silent now if his life depended on it, and he gives voice to strangled moans and sobs as his thighs start to shake.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Douglas swears violently, and Martin spares a brief thought for what he looks like before Douglas makes a perfect twisting pull on his cock and something in Martin breaks and he starts to come.

Martin cries out incoherently, something nonsensical, but he can’t bring himself to care when he’s squirming in ecstasy with Douglas’ hand tight on his, coming into the wet, slick clutch of the toy around his cock and the plug rocking inside him in time with the surges of his inner muscles and forcing more out of him when he’d thought he was done.

Eventually his orgasm subsides and his body relaxes, and Martin sucks in a laboured gasp for air as his heart pounds.

“Oh God,” Douglas says shakily, and Martin opens his eyes to see Douglas looking half-wrecked. “Oh God, Martin, that was... that...”

Martin stretches slightly, reaching for Douglas, and whimpers softly when the toy moves inside him and pushes into that spot that felt so good just moments before. It’s now too much, _far_ too much, and Martin paws between his legs but finds only Douglas’ hands already rubbing at his inner thighs and easing the plug out of him.

“I...” Douglas is saying, his hand not quite steady as he drops the toy over the side of the sofa. He looks almost as undone as Martin feels: his hair ruffled out of its usual smooth order, his face flushed, and his cock jutting up almost painfully erect in his lap. “I have to... I’m sorry, I can’t hold on any longer, I just need to–”

Douglas is gentle with Martin as he slides the toy off Martin’s flagging erection, but he brings it to his lap and shoves himself inside almost roughly, with a force that looks just this side of uncomfortable and makes Martin bite his lip.

Douglas closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he starts to pull at himself with the toy, and Martin swallows hard. He and Douglas haven’t used condoms for a while and so there’s no reason why Douglas should need to bother with one now but all the same it seems dirty, almost illicit, to look down and see Douglas’ cock sliding in and out of the toy, slick and shiny with lube and Martin’s come.

“ _Oh_ ,” Douglas groans deeply, his head falling back and one hand settling on Martin’s calf to squeeze tightly. “Oh, oh God, that’s...”

Suddenly Martin wants to be closer to Douglas, close enough to kiss him, and he scrambles on sex-clumsy limbs until he can kneel astride Douglas’ thighs, gripping the back of the sofa to steady himself and leaning in to rub his cheek against Douglas’.

One of Douglas’ hands settles on Martin’s thigh as Douglas turns his face towards Martin, and Martin kisses him. Douglas moans a little into Martin’s kiss; he sounds almost lost and the noise makes Martin’s heart clench in unexpected ways.

“Shuffle your hips forward on the sofa,” Martin murmurs to Douglas, into their kiss, and Douglas obeys. He’s still moving the toy on his cock, and Martin almost shyly covers Douglas’ hand with his own and helps to stroke him for a few moments before squeezing Douglas’ hand and making him pause. 

“Let me,” Martin says, quiet but determined, and Douglas makes a frustrated noise but takes his hand away and lets Martin work. But after a few pulls Martin slides the toy off Douglas’ cock – murmuring “I know , just hang on” in response to the sudden clench of Douglas’ hand on his thigh – and shuffles forward. If he jams his knees into the back of the sofa then this ought to work, and Martin tilts his hips and succeeds in lowering himself so that Douglas’ cock pushes hard and slick between his buttocks.

“ _Oh_.” Once he understands what Martin is trying to do, Douglas reaches behind Martin to grip himself with one hand and hold himself steady as Martin sinks down. “Oh God, Martin, I don’t think I can hold on much–”

“Then don’t.” Martin leans forward to kiss Douglas hard, trying to communicate every bit of passion he feels for him, and unseen by Douglas Martin’s hands tighten on the back of the sofa as Douglas’ hips twitch and surge under him. “Go on, fuck me, come in me.”

Doulas needs no further encouragement, and Martin nuzzles Douglas’ temple and listens to his gasps and groans as his hands clamp down hard on Martin’s thighs and Douglas fucks up into him.

It’s not entirely comfortable – Martin is still slightly fluttery and sensitive from orgasm – but that’s more than balanced out by how _powerful_ he feels, with Douglas clutching at him and sobbing Martin’s name as Martin tangles his fingers in the hair at Douglas’ nape and feels ten feet tall at this evidence of how much Douglas is turned on by him.

After a few moments Douglas heaves under him, his hands shifting from Martin’s thighs to his hips to grab him and pull him down _hard_ onto Douglas’ cock, and Martin thrills to hear Douglas’ loud moan as he comes. It makes Martin feel triumphant, as though he’d just won the lottery, and he presses his lips to the salt-wet skin of Douglas’ temple as Douglas gasps erratically and his cock twitches faintly inside Martin.

Martin keeps pressing kisses to Douglas’ face, while Douglas’ hands gradually ease from their vice-like grip to something looser, until Douglas has gone all but boneless under him and is stroking Martin’s thighs with gentle hands.

“Hmm,” Douglas sighs at last, and his cock starts to slide free of Martin as he begins to soften. Martin stays as still as he can, wanting to let Douglas bask in the afterglow, but he can’t suppress a little shiver when Douglas slides out of him completely. At once Douglas’ grip changes, his hands starting to move over Martin with intent, and Martin wriggles a little when Douglas’ fingers dip between his buttocks to where he’s almost obscenely wet.

“I’m fine,” he breathes against Douglas’ face, knowing what Douglas is thinking. “I’m fine, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Douglas makes a small noise at Martin in reply, but he resumes tracing idle, abstract patterns across Martin’s thighs with his fingertips.

“That was good,” Martin says. This feels more intimate than usual: sitting wrapped around each other in the aftermath, close enough to share breath.

“That was _wonderful_ ,” Douglas corrects him, lifting his arms to put them around Martin in a hug. “You were one of the most filthily gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.”

He stretches a little. “That was an inspired idea. Do you have anything _you’d_ like to share?” He traces a ticklish line across Martin’s calf. “Any notions you’ve always wanted to try?”

“Oh,” Martin stammers, his mind full of incoherent, half-formed thoughts of _Slow, go as slow as you can with me, even after I start begging you_ , and _I’ve never seen you touch yourself, God, I want to, but I can’t–_

“Mmm?” Douglas presses, and Martin squirms as Douglas’ fingers reach his ankle.

“I... I don’t... um...”

But Douglas only lets him stumble for a few moments before hushing him with a kiss.

“No rush,” he says equably, pressing a palm comfortingly in the small of Martin’s back. “Just whenever you’re ready.”

And Martin melts contentedly against Douglas, and thinks that perhaps that day might not be too far off.

**End**


End file.
